


my tell-tale heart's a hammer in my chest

by johnny-and-dora (sian_jpg)



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, set in that late s2 sweet spot, was meant to be platonic and then they started kissing. that's not my fault, you know the one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:33:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25388347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sian_jpg/pseuds/johnny-and-dora
Summary: "Whenever she starts to think of Jake’s quirks and jokes as endearing instead of irritating, it leaves her with an unwelcome dry taste in her mouth and butterflies in her stomach."or, just another way that jake & amy somewhat inevitably end up kissing in the evidence lock-up.(late s2 canon divergence)
Relationships: Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago
Comments: 22
Kudos: 133





	my tell-tale heart's a hammer in my chest

Amy’s had her fair share of bad days. This one doesn’t immediately stand out from the pack – it isn’t especially cruel or callous. No-one’s in the hospital, no-one’s in immediate danger. As days go, she’s definitely had worse.

And yet, everything is overwhelming, the bullpen bright and loud and leaving her stomach in knots. She’s hit a slump with her cases, spotted two typos in her paperwork and received a very nice rejection letter from the mentor scheme she applied to. To make matters worse, the entire Santiago sibling group chat is congratulating stupid perfect David on making sergeant, and she’s still two years away from even being able to take the exam.

Everything is a little off today, just enough for her anxiety to go haywire but not enough for it to feel justified, leading to an embarrassing downward spiral of emotions.

Terry has already gently urged her to go home, but she can’t bring herself to just yet. In all honesty, the thought of being alone in her cold, empty apartment right now with no food in the fridge and nursing a heavy heart is almost too much to bear. So instead she finds herself here – the evidence lock-up. Where everything is compartmentalised into neat little boxes, neat and organised. Here she can lose herself in repetitive, almost mindless work with the minimal interruption she craves.

Of course, the moment the door swings open, Amy weakly thinks she should have known better. The universe is definitely not on her side today because, as if part of some cruel cosmic joke, Jake saunters in, eyes brightening as he spots her.

“Hey, there you are!” He hasn’t noticed yet, how wrecked she is. She fights the urge to flee or to yell at him to leave her alone, although Jake’s good enough of a friend that she knows that wouldn’t get her off the hook. He leans against the shelves, a familiar crooked smile on his face.

“What are you still doing in here? I know evidence filling is like, your kink, but your shift ended an hour ago.”

“Holt wanted me to stay and digitize some old case files.” She tries her best, but it still comes out all wrong, too raspy and shuddery. She can pinpoint the exact second he realises, finally notices that her cheeks are flushed too pink and her pupils are shot to hell, because she can see whatever playful retort he had planned die in his throat, his usual shit-eating grin quickly morphing into gentle concern.

She hates that look, the one that makes him all soft around the edges. It’s the one that reminds her that despite the fact he usually masks it behind playful ribbing or a staggering amount of bravado, Jake really cares about her. That’s something she’s ill-equipped to deal with on a good day, let alone now, here in the half-light where it’s just the two of them and her guard is completely down.

“Are you okay?”

“Not really.” She just about manages, lip trembling, before hot tears are falling from her face again. Amy instantly turns away, covering her face, overwhelmed with embarrassment at falling apart in front of Jake like this. She wants him to crack an inappropriate joke right now or panic and leave like he sometimes awkwardly does when a witness gets emotional and he doesn’t know what to say.

But he doesn’t, because of course he’s never made anything easier for her. Instead, she hears him say “hey, hey, it’s okay” in a hushed, gentle tone, feels the firm, reassuring presence of his hand on her shoulder.

“God, sorry.” It just spills out of her, cracked and hissing like pressure from an air valve as she flushes with shame. Amy hates crying in front of anyone, an unfortunate side effect of growing up with seven brothers and her absolute determination to never let any weakness show. Vulnerability is something she can’t really afford in her line of work, especially as an ambitious female detective desperate to prove herself. This is intensely awkward and very unprofessional, and she just wants the floor to just open up and swallow her whole.

And yet here Jake is, with his great big stupid disarming heart, comforting her without hesitation.

“Don’t ever apologise to me, Amy Santiago. You have literally never done anything wrong in your entire life.”

“That’s not true.” She mumbles. He exhales a soft breathy laugh, like he can’t believe she’s still arguing with him even now. It’s almost affectionate, but that line of thinking never goes anywhere good. Whenever she starts to think of Jake’s quirks and jokes as endearing instead of irritating, it leaves her with an unwelcome dry taste in her mouth and butterflies in her stomach.

“Uh, it is by Peralta standards. Your mistakes are like, using a semicolon wrong or something. My mistakes usually end up with me in the ER.”

“How are your ribs, by the way?”

“Sore as hell. But y’know, I’ll survive. Can’t get rid of me that easily.” Amy can hear the smile in his voice; somehow, it’s that, of everything, that grounds her. She still can’t look at him directly, but she turns around and tentatively lets him pull her into a hug.

“Is this okay?” Jake asks quietly, a simple act of making sure she’s comfortable that washes over her, warm and pleasant. She nods, burying her face into his shoulder before she can overthink the implications.

They’ve hugged before, maybe a handful of times – Jake is a tactile person by nature, and they’ve both had more than their fair share of bad days. But as her breathing evens out Amy’s unable to ignore how safe she feels, her stomach swooping with a different kind of rush entirely.

This would be so much easier if there wasn’t all this history between them. All these tiny moments adding up to one giant missed connection of sorts, feelings always manifesting themselves at the wrong time, wrong place. Now every time she tries to get past this, to do the rational thing and move on, it feels like swimming against the tide. His kindness and openness are like lead, never failing to sink her sense of reason and leave her gasping for air.

She honestly could kiss him, now. He’s tantalisingly close. She’s ragged and exhausted and desperate to fall asleep tonight wrapped in an embrace like this. Aching to slowly reach up and gently sweep across his jaw, ghost her fingertips over the lovely curve of his lips.

It’s deeply embarrassing how many times he’s done something cute or totally brilliant and her first thought has been that she wants to grab him by his tie and kiss him on the mouth.

It’s just not that simple. Not just because that would be a violation of so many HR guidelines, but because her and Jake and _feelings_ have been a grey area for a really long time now, and it leaves her constantly feeling like she’s teetering off the edge of a skyscraper. She’s not even sure if he feels the same way anymore, even though the rapid hammer of his heartbeat certainly points to one answer.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He says softly after a minute, interrupting her intense internal monologue. She feels herself flush a deep red.

“God, no.”

“…Do you want me to leave?”

It would be an easy out. A way off the ledge. But Amy knows herself, has catalogued and mapped every inch of her brain in an effort to control her anxieties, and knows that she needs him to stay.

“…No.”

“Okay then.” She still can’t really look at him, shame twisting up her insides and clenching her weary, stuttering heart, but she feels him. She focuses on the pleasant feel of his surprisingly firm arms wrapped around her and how it almost banishes her self-consciousness entirely.

There’s all this guilt, then, about how it’s creepy and shameful to take such solace in Jake’s embrace when he doesn’t even know how she feels about him. In truth, Amy isn’t sure, never really has been. But she doesn’t dare to make the first move. She’s calculated the risk, over and over again, late at night while she lies awake. The stakes are just too high, and it’s just easier for them to remain friends. It’s just easier to let it all be left unsaid.

Instead, she makes a move to pull out of his embrace and he complies instantly. Amy’s bold enough to look at him then, and feels a quiet thrill upon noticing that his face is just as flushed as hers feels as he awkwardly scratches the back of his neck.

“Thank you.” She says, before burying her face in her hands again. “God, I feel so embarrassed. This is so embarrassing.”

“It’s not embarrassing at all,” Jake says, and just looks at her meaningfully as she rolls her eyes. “Hey, I mean it. I’m the embarrassing one in this partnership, and I wear that as a badge of honour.”

Amy scoffs but is unable to keep a small fond smile from blossoming on her face. Something in his expression shifts then, like he’s emboldened by making her smile, and Jake clears his throat.

“What’s embarrassing is all the texts I spam you with when I’m drunk. Or sober, actually. The way I spent an obscene amount of money on our ‘date’ just because I liked pulling your pigtails. What’s embarrassing is me telling you that I like you before disappearing for six months. And it is downright shameful that all that time has passed, and I still do. So, y’know. King of Embarrassing over here.”

He laughs awkwardly, averting her gaze by staring down at his battered up old sneakers. Amy feels her ears faintly start to ring.

“You…you do?” She asks timidly, drawing his attention back to her. Jake raises his eyebrows slightly, as if he’s surprised that it was ever in doubt, and gives her a soft, tentative, almost sad smile.

“Amy…of course I do. It’s you.” He says. Like it’s obvious. Like it’s always been obvious.

And she thinks of the coffee he brings her without having to even ask, always with a cheerful smile. The way he’d looked at her at Charles and Gina’s parents’ wedding, the way he always hypes her up during tough cases and the way he’d just knew, almost instinctively, how to comfort her on today of all days and _oh._

Easiest solve in the world. Jake’s actions have always spoken much louder than his words, anyway. Maybe, all this time, they’ve been dancing around what was left unspoken, ignoring the glaringly obvious gestures that showed exactly how much they care about each other.

And _oh_. Maybe it is that simple.

“Oh.” Amy says out loud, because her voice is still struggling to catch up with her brain and her fervent beating heart, and she’s never really considered what it would be like to give in and let the tide take her where she wants to go.

“Yeah. Oh.” He laughs, and now it’s his turn to avoid her gaze. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make things awkward, I just…I thought you knew. Sorry.”

She inches closer to him – and this time it’s her turn to put a firm, reassuring hand on his shoulder. Their eyes lock, and there is her answer, unspoken but plain as day. Bright and shining and achingly familiar.

“Don’t ever apologise to me, Jake Peralta.” She murmurs, tilting her chin up so their mouths are tantalizing close. In truth, the next move is purely instinctual on both ends. Jake tastes sweet and she almost wants to laugh, because it’s _all_ so achingly familiar. She probably would laugh if her mouth wasn’t doing other things. He’s good, too – Amy finds herself thoroughly incapacitated when they’re done, their foreheads touching, pupils blown and breath heavy. She honestly could swoon.

“I like you. A lot.” It comes out all raspy again, but for a good reason this time. He grins, and she could swear nothing else outside this room exists.

“I really, really, really like you. All of the reallies. Times a million.”

“Not a competition, Jake.”

“I know. But that was amazing. You’re amazing. Can we do that again please?”

She laughs and leans in again, Amy cupping his face this time, and it’s languid and tender and all that she needs to feel light and happy and whole again. It draws this low note of contentment out of him that makes her slightly weak in the knees.

And yeah, this has been a pretty bad day overall. But Amy’s not going to let that stop them for one second. Her hands are still shaking with nerves and adrenaline – Jake notices and grabs them, squeezing them reassuringly, and she tries to pour all her thankfulness into one sweet smile.

“Okay. Come on, let’s go.”

“Where…where are we going?”

“You’re coming home with me, and we’re going to eat takeout and make out on my couch and not be stupid about our feelings anymore. Okay?”

“…Uh, 100%. Yes, immediately let’s go do that, please.”

“I like you.” She repeats, squeezing his hands back. He looks at her so tenderly, with such fondness that it’s almost overpowering.

“I like you too, so much, God, Ames, you don’t even know.”

“I know. Me too.” She smiles again. “Come on, come on. Let’s go be embarrassing somewhere else.”

Amy leads him by the hand out of the precinct, giggling as he refuses to let go, frantically packing stuff into his messenger bag one-handed. She drives them to her apartment, heart bursting with joy as Jake fiddles with the radio and croons some cheesy Taylor Swift lyrics and gives her that smile, that beautiful soft around the edges smile. He cheerfully greets her neighbour as she slots her key in the lock and practically drags him inside, kissing him as if air is a commodity rather than a necessity.

It’s definitely embarrassing how much she’s imagined endless versions of this exact scenario, but now that it’s real – now that Jake is perched on her kitchen island, making fun of her laminated takeout menus, laughing bright and unfiltered as the sunset spilling in through the window gives him a glowing halo – it’s so much better than she imagined. There simply isn’t room in her brain for her to feel self-conscious or guilty or much of anything, really, because he completely floods her senses.

Jake’s in her kitchen on a Wednesday evening beatboxing while he rifles through her silverware drawer as if it’s something he does every night, and it’s surreal and lovely and bright in technicolour. They eat and talk and laugh and lazily kiss until their mouths are sore. She wouldn’t trade it for anything.

And when he oh-so-tenderly asks her what was upsetting her before, intertwining their hands and pressing kisses to her fingertips as they lie on her couch together, Amy can’t quite seem to remember.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, gang. i had a lot of fun writing it and i hope it can bring you at least a little bit of joy too <3 kudos and comments mean the world, now more than ever!  
> come find me on tumblr @johnny-and-dora!


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